


From Winter to Summer

by CatelynTsukino



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: F/M, Fluff and Angst, Future Fic, Grandparents & Grandchildren, Grief/Mourning, Implied/Referenced Death in Childbirth, Post-Battle of Winterfell | Final Battle Against the White Walkers, Post-Canon, The Long Night
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-01
Updated: 2021-02-01
Packaged: 2021-03-18 17:21:44
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,393
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29121858
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CatelynTsukino/pseuds/CatelynTsukino
Summary: On the 30th year after the defeat of the Others, the heroes of the Long Night welcome their grandbabes into the world.
Relationships: Arya Stark/Gendry Waters, Jaime Lannister/Brienne of Tarth, Jon Snow/Daenerys Targaryen, Theon Greyjoy/Sansa Stark
Comments: 4
Kudos: 67





	From Winter to Summer

**Author's Note:**

> This is just an excuse to write some of our characters and good ol' grandparents. Some fluff, some angst, a healthy dose of each. (I promise I'll get to my ongoing stories!!!)  
> Title from 'Jenny of Oldstone', for reasons you'll see below!

**Winterfell**

Sansa's auburn hair has yet to turn grey, but its strong color has dimmed out slightly over the years. She's worn it straight, without much adornment, ever since she was crowned Queen in the North, but now it is easier to tame.

From the mirror, she sees her husband coming from behind and hugging her. "Ready to present our first grandchild to the people?", he asks teasingly.

"Thankfully", she replies with a grin, "this is no longer our job. We will just stand there and look pretty."

Two years into their marriage, Sansa and Theon discovered her uncle Brandon had left bastards all over the North, and one of them left a child orphaned. Taking advantage of the Stark blood, they adopted her when she was still an unnamed baby. Now, Lyarra had just birthed a daughter of her own, whom she named Sara. She had the whole Stark look, more so than Sansa ever did, but everyone knows Lyarra is not her natural child anyway—and anyone who doesn't _know_ can _guess_ based on the very public fact that her husband can't sire children, and she's never given reason for anyone to suspect of infidelity.

A servant comes to their room and announces it's time. They nod and, hand in hand, go to the main hall. Lyarra conducts the ceremony, with her husband by her side—William Glover, a soft-spoken but brave man born shortly after the Long Night. The ceremony is short, but charming, and Sansa smiles genuinely for the whole ordeal.

However, she can't help but feel an emptiness in her heart. _Father and Mother should be here,_ she thinks. _They'd be old, for sure, but could still be alive. Robb should be King in the North, not me. Rickon should be by my side._ She even misses her living kin, for they are all far away: Jon in Dragonstone, Arya in Storm's End, Bran in Greywater Watch.

Her heart grows heavy at these thoughts, and she retires to the godswood after the ceremony is over. Theon kneels wordlessly at her side, hugging her from behind and letting her rest the back of her head on his shoulder as she prays for the ones she lost. Distantly, she remembers the song Podrick Payne—now a knight of the Kingsguard—sang for them at eve of the first battle against the Others. As it fits her mood, she begins to hum it.

_High in the halls of the kings who are gone  
Jenny would dance with her ghosts  
The ones she had lost and the ones she had found  
And the ones who had loved her the most..._

* * *

**Dragonstone**

Two quiet cries can be heard in the night. "It's your turn", Jon mumbles, half-asleep.

"They're not our problem", his wife reminds him.

"Their parents are in King's Landing", he mumbles back. "So yes, they are."

Daenerys groans and, slowly, sits up. "You could _help_ me", she complains. "It's two of them."

Their only child—Daeron Targaryen, a miracle baby—became father to twins—Baela and Visenya—a fortnight ago, and he and his wife left the babies to their grandparents' care while sailing to King's Landing to take care of important matters. Daenerys and Jon have passed the crown to them after the former began to develop back pains after sitting on the throne for long. Nowadays, Dany needs a cane to move around, but that's the only thing that gives her age away.

In Jon's eyes, she's as beautiful as the day they met.

Huffing, he sits up as well. Waking up in the middle of the night to tend for a crying baby is definitely something he _doesn't_ miss about Daeron's first years. He's always loved his son, no matter his age, but adulthood, he finds, is the easiest part of parenting—except when your adult son deems to be a good idea to leave his babies with their tired grandparents.

He goes to grab Baela, the girl who seems to favor him the most. In the back of his mind, he hears whispers of men and women older than him—the Lannister brothers, Ellaria Sand, half of Daenerys' Essosi commanders, Davos Seaworth and so on—telling him that he is too young to complain about such things. Indeed, many of those older survivors of the Long Night are probably healthier and more active, but they did not spend their golden years ruling Westeros.

No wonder Daenerys abdicated five years ago and retired for Dragonstone. He thanks the gods every single day for her choice, which he followed gladly. Hopefully Daeron won't grow too tired of ruling to do the same, though.

He and Dany faced many obstacles at the beginning of their reign. Being heroes of the Long Night did not help their cause much, not after all the trouble the Aegon Pretender had caused in the South while they were busy in the North—the boy nearly destroyed King's Landing after razing the stormlands. Their first years of ruling were spent rebuilding places and earning people's trust, as well as toning down rebellion all over the realm and dealing with the famine that followed the Long Night.

Eventually, they could sit down and relax a bit—as much as a queen and a king can—but by then they already felt like they had gained fifty extra years. Dany's joints had already begun to hurt, and she could no longer stand sitting on the Iron Throne. When she woke up unable to sit from pain on her back, she decided Daeron was grown up enough to rule in her stead and abdicated.

Baela falls asleep quickly in his arms, faster than Visenya in Dany's. Slowly, he places her back in her crib and goes back to bed. Sleep greets him before his wife comes back.

_The ones who'd been gone for so very long  
She couldn't remember their names  
They spun her around on the damp old stones  
Spun away all her sorrow and pain  
And she never wanted to leave..._

* * *

**Storm's End**

Arya scoops baby Ned up as his mother's bones are placed on the castle's crypts. At her side, Gendry sheds the tears she's denied herself to avoid stressing her grandson.

Lyanna Baratheon, Arya's only child after a series of miscarriages, suffered the same fate of her namesake, dying of a birth fever two days after her son came to the world. She was so weak and delirious, it fell on Arya to name the baby.

Her husband Jason, a hedge knight who took the Baratheon name after marrying her daughter, weeps incessantly as he kneels before her grave. Arya wishes she could do the same, but, as much as the pain of losing a child is immense, she's gone through it before, with her lost unborn babies; for poor Jason, the grief is all new—the one of losing the love of his life.

It is only after her goodson takes Ned to their shared chambers that she wanders back to the crypts and lets herself fall to her knees and cry. Gendry is already asleep, so no one is there to comfort—or bother—her.

Once, Arya had deluded herself into thinking she would not lose anyone dear to her anymore. After all, her sister, her brother Bran and her brother-cousin Jon survived the Long Night, and so did Gendry. If they all lived through that nightmare, nothing would take them now, right?

But death comes to everyone; she had learned that in Braavos, and the lesson wormed its way back to her in the form of her daughter. _Out of all people_ , she thinks, sobbing. Lyanna was young and spirited, ready to see the world and prepare herself to become the Lady of Storm's End her mother has yet to be, but it was not the will of the gods—why? Why?

She doesn't know how long she stays there, but eventually her husband appears. "Arya", he calls her, softly, "come back to bed. This is no place to be in."

She wants to shout at him for trying to pry her away from Lyanna… but she was his daughter too, and he is right. Instead, she stands up and lets him guide her back to their chambers. Instead, she hugs him tightly as she welcomes the darkness of sleep.

_They danced through the day  
And into the night through the snow that swept through the hall  
From winter to summer then winter again  
'Til the walls did crumble and fall  
And she never wanted to leave..._

* * *

**Evenfall Hall**

"Is he asleep?", Galladon Lannister asks his mother as she opens the door slowly.

She shakes her head. Her hair is half-grey, half-blonde, and there are a few wrinkles around her eyes and her forehead, but, to her husband and children, she is a stunning beauty. "He never sleeps around this hour", she reminds her eldest son.

As if to confirm those exact words, they hear a voice coming from inside. "Gal? Is that you?"

"Yes", he says as the door opens wider. "And I bring a new visitor."

Ser Jaime Lannister, once known as Kingslayer, but nowadays more referred to as Goldenhand the Just—a nod to the golden hand he used to wear prior to his wedding, roughly three decades ago—stands up slowly as he catches sight of a baby in his son's arms.

Two years ago, he was almost lost to his family as he felt a strong pain in his chest. He woke up after a three-day slumber, and although nowadays he's mostly fine, he's never been the same since. He tires easily and cannot handle bigger efforts, such as traveling outside Tarth.

His steps are slower now, but still resolute. He approaches his son to take a good look at the baby—his grandson, according to the letter received a few months ago. "Adorable", he whispers, "as every descendant of Brienne and me." They all chuckle at that. "You didn't tell us his name in your letter, Gal."

He gives his father a side smile. "Tyrion", he announces. "In honor of Uncle."

Jaime smiles widely at those words and feels tears threatening to fall. His brother died while his good daughter was pregnant, and Galladon confided he wanted a son just to name him after Tyrion, who, despite having married, did not sire children of his own.

Galladon hands him the baby. "Mother held him downstairs. It's your turn."

Wordlessly, he grabs little Tyrion and rests his head under his hand, while his stump supports the lower part of his body. His mind wanders to when he first held Galladon; the strong wave of love that washed over him, startling him with its intensity—he had not felt this ever for Brienne. _This_ , he'd thought back then, _this is what being a father feels like. Now I truly know I've never been one to Joffrey, Myrcella and Tommen._

His heart aches upon remembering his first three children, the ones he was never allowed near. None of them were afforded the joy of having offspring of their own; none lived enough for it. Jaime owes to them to give the best of himself to the children he got to have with Brienne, and the same applies for his grandchildren.

"Thank you", he whispers, handing the baby back to his father.

Galladon smiles. "I'll go to my chambers and unpack. See you for supper."

He then gets out, leaving him and Brienne alone. "Come here", he calls, sitting on the bed. "I've missed you."

"I've only been gone to greet Gal", she says, rolling her eyes playfully as she sits next to him.

He nuzzles his nose on the crook of her neck. He doesn't have energy for sex most days, but cuddles are enough for both of them. Being close, touching one another, is the most important part. "Still too long. Have I ever stopped being greedy for you, my lady?"

"No", she sighs in response, grabbing his stump and caressing it, as she's done since before their wedding. "You have not."

He can feel her smile, so he smiles back after kissing her neck. "Actually, I was going to ask for your help", he admits, lips caressing her shoulder. "Today… today is Myrcella's day."

Her arm instantly circles his waist. "Oh, Jaime", she exhales. "Of course. Come here."

It's a slow walk, but thankfully the grave marks are near the castle. No bodies are actually buried there, of course—all corpses of those who died prior to the Long Night were burned, and Myrcella would not be buried in Tarth anyway—but the names engraved are enough for him.

Slowly, he goes to his knees and touches his daughter's name. "I just met your newest nephew, Cella", he whispers, already feeling tears coming up. "Named after your favorite uncle, Tyrion. He's everyone's favorite too." He sniffs. "I wish you could have held him as I did. I wish you had had children of your own to play with little Tyrion—actually, maybe they would have played with your siblings, now that I think about it." Tears begin to fall down. "I'm sorry, Cella, that I could not protect you enough. I'm sorry you never got to see spring and summer." He glances at the side, where Tommen's symbolic tombstone lies. "I'm sorry for you too, Tommen. I wish you had never known the burden of a crown, or that I had at least saved you from it. I wish both of you were here." Another sniff. "Sometimes I wish even for Joffrey. Maybe, if he left that forsaken city, he'd have grown into someone decent."

He keeps rambling for some time, until his knees begin to hurt. Brienne, patient as ever, helps him up and kisses his tear-stained cheeks. "They'd be proud of their father", she whispers, enveloping him in a hug. "Your living kids are, and so am I."

He has no other reply to that than, "I love you", so that's what he says. They kiss briefly on the lips and make their way back to the Evenfall.

_High in the halls of the kings who are gone  
Jenny would dance with her ghosts  
The ones she had lost and the ones she had found  
And the ones  
Who had loved her the most_

**Author's Note:**

> Yes, information of what happened is left purposefully vague. Feel free to especulate on what happened to unmentioned characters and places, and how the ones featured got to be where they are now.  
> Hope you enjoy this short, self-indulgent story <3


End file.
